


(was there ever) a girl so pretty

by therearenights



Category: Block B, Winner (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therearenights/pseuds/therearenights
Summary: "We'll definitely have to dress like girls after we debut," he shrugged and pretended his palms weren't sticky with sweat, his fingers weren't trembling. "And I like to be prepared."





	(was there ever) a girl so pretty

Jiho's fight with the zipper didn't last too long.

"Okay," he tugged on the blue tartan fabric and checked himself out in the mirror on the bathroom door. "That's it, I guess. You ready?"

He pushed the door open. Minho, who was sitting on the floor, looked up to say something and promptly forgot to close his mouth. Jiho chose to take that as a good sign.

Wearing a skirt for the first time was an interesting experience, to put it mildly. Wearing it in front of Minho veered well off the path of interesting and all the way into the realm of seriously fucking weird. Not that Jiho would let a little weirdness stop him at this point.

Mom was working a double shift, and Taewoon went to Yongjin with his crew of utter fucktards; if Jiho never saw him again that would be too soon. The school today was over earlier than usual, and Jiho managed to whisk Minho away before Jihoon roped him into some bullshit or the other. The last days of May were balmy, intoxicating, and Jiho constantly felt like he had just put away a couple cans of beer: loose, self-assured and more fearless than ever.

"Hyung..." Minho's eyebrows were expressive enough to convey not only his apprehension, but also a healthy dose of amusement. Not a trace of awkwardness, though. God, the kid was gonna go places, Jiho just knew it. And he planned to lead him all the way.

"What? Never seen a noona this close before?" Jiho sat down across him all prim and proper, keeping his knees together, smoothed the pleats of the skirt under Minho's unblinking gaze and dropped the toiletry bag on the floor between them.

"When they get this close, they usually tell me to keep my eyes shut," Minho's distracted answer made Jiho grind his teeth. "What's all this for?"

"We'll definitely have to dress like girls after we debut," he shrugged and pretended his palms weren't sticky with sweat, his fingers weren't trembling. "And I like to be prepared."

As far as excuses went, this one was pretty weak and Minho didn't look all that convinced, but the violently pink, glittery mess of tubes, pots and boxes seemed to fascinate him enough not to pursue that particular topic any further.

"What's that?" he picked an opaque diamond-shaped tube and tried to unscrew the top. Jiho slapped his hands away.

"Hey, careful! They don't sell this shit over here."

"Hyung..." Minho's whining was an art form, pure and simple. A natural God's given gift, and the worst thing about it was that Minho knew precisely how well it worked. Jiho barely kept himself from kissing that pout off right then and there. 

"It's a lip tint. Here, hold this," Jiho gave him a hand mirror and moved his arms around a bit to see his own reflection. 

Minho went along with it, the way he usually did, patient and obedient, and the first tendrils of warmth started to uncurl deep in Jiho's belly. He was used to ordering people around, but none of them were Minho and he wondered just how far he could push him before Minho pushed back.

"You're gonna sell your face as much as your music," he said shaking the tube a little and then opened the top. "Don't make the mistake of thinking anybody's gonna care at first. There will be stylists, and make-up artists, and designers, but you gotta know what works for you, always. Make people look long enough to remember you."

"That sounds awfully cold, hyung."

"And it's not gonna get any warmer. Deal with it now." He looked at Minho's slight frown and winked. "Remember, noona always knows best."

Minho laughed, easy enough, but his gaze didn't lose that pensive shadow, and it was fine, Jiho needed him to start thinking about these things. There were worse, way scarier monsters down the road.

"Now, look here," he said and stuck his lower lip out, licked it and watched Minho's eyes trace the movement. "This is how you do it."

He dabbed a little bit of tint on the seam of his lips, smudged it with his pinkie and when the gradient was smooth enough, groped around the bag for the shimmer. All the while he felt Minho's eyes on him like a target point, and the warmth kept rising through his body until even his thighs felt slippery against each other with a bloom of sweat.

"Got it?" Jiho looked up from the mirror and his breath caught, because Minho was flushed, sweet pink spreading over his sunburnt skin.

"Yeah," he said, his lips curved in a satisfied, insolent smile. "You're... really pretty, noona."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Jiho snorted and adjusted the wig. A cheap, synthetic one, but the cut worked with his wide face and his skin looked almost translucent against the black shiny hair.

"Yeah, I know," Minho tugged curiously on one of the curls. His finger grazed Jiho's cheek in a slow, teasing motion and Jiho raised an eyebrow. "Why the wig?"

"I'm going for the full experience," Jiho leaned back on his arms, his head tilted slightly to the right. Minho's stare immediately followed the line of his neck and seemed to get stuck on his chest. Predictable, but it still made Jiho draw a long shuddery breath and bite his lip. He loved being watched, and being watched by Minho, with his absolute concentration and intensity, whether on a chaotic stage of a local club or here, on the meticulously planned stage of his bedroom, made him feel invincible.

"Am I a part of the full experience too?" Minho asked almost offhandedly, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the subtle consent to follow Jiho's script as far as it would take them both. Jiho, for one, wasn't going to stop halfway.

"If you can handle that," Jiho straightened his legs next to Minho's, poked his knee with his big toe. "Think you're good enough?"

Minho shrugged and the long bangs hid his eyes for a moment, but his lips were smiling, and he covered Jiho's ankle with his palm, stroked once across the ribbed pattern of knee-high socks. He had beautiful fingers, well-sculpted and strong, dark enough that the contrast of white fabric and skin made Jiho clench his toes in anticipation.

"I can be very good, noona," Minho breathed out, and slid lower on the floor, pliant and relaxed, throat exposed in the open collar of his shirt. Jiho watched his hands trace the long muscle of his thighs and stay there, palms up and fingers half-curled, patiently waiting for a permission to touch. "Please?"

"Well-trained and polite, would you look at that," Jiho whispered and moved forward almost unthinkingly. The air in the room was getting thick, hazy, and he heard the distant clamor of traffic outside, the fading and rising mumble of neighbors' TV, and the nervous, insistent rush of his own blood. It pushed him on and on, making him oversensitive to every slip and slide of clothes over his skin, the polished floor under his palms, the hot curve of Minho's shoulder under starchy cotton.

His knees nestled between Minho's spread thighs, the skirt brushing Minho's hands, and Jiho saw his fingers twitch, but he didn't move an inch and this kind of behavior was definitely worth a reward. Jiho stroked his hand down Minho's chest, played with the buttons, slid his palm beneath the fabric and touched the skin. It burned the tips of his fingers. Minho stopped breathing.

"You're doing very good," Jiho whispered next to his ear. "Do you know what's gonna happen next?"

Minho turned his head slightly, so that his nose brushed Jiho's cheek, breathed in deeply, dragged his lips along Jiho's jaw.

"Whatever noona wants," he said, sweet as anything. "Should I close my eyes now?"

Jiho wanted to answer, but his tongue felt too heavy, his throat dry, so he nodded, and felt Minho's eyelashes tickle his skin. Jiho didn't lean back, just let his hands drift lower and lower, until he found the button on Minho's jeans. He was hard already, and Jiho tried to tell himself that wasn't much a feat when they were both barely seventeen and a breath of wind was enough, but the rationalization rang hollow next to the solid, heavy weight of Minho's cock in his hand, the speeding beat of his heart, the barely audible groan.

There was no place for illusions where Jiho wanted to go, neither was there any place for shame, or false modesty. Whatever Jiho wanted, he knew he was going to have to work for it, and he had long since realized it paid off to be honest with himself about his own desires. Some of them just... took more time getting used to than the others, as simple as that.

He wanted Minho the moment he laid his eyes on him. He wanted his smile and adoration, his talent and obedience, his support and his challenge. He wanted Minho's hands on him, wanted to make Minho hard, so he did whatever he had to and now it happened.

He could jerk Minho off and enjoy it, but there was that other thing, pretty difficult to get used to, and Jiho had always been the one to go for broke.

Sitting back on his heels, he bent over Minho lap. An annoying stiff lock of hair fell forward, some of the strands got stuck to his painted glossy lips. Jiho put it behind his ear, lowered his head and when his breath ghosted over the head of Minho's straining cock, he definitely heard a whimper. The wave of satisfaction and pride that surged through Jiho just then only made him hungry for more.

His eyelids grew heavy, leaden, and when he closed his eyes and everything blurred in the darkness, the steady flow of sensations went awry: something wet and hard was spreading his lips, bitter salt burned at the tip of his tongue, and his mouth flooded with saliva so fast he almost choked. Minho was quiet, barely breathing, and Jiho tried to take in more of him, ignored the hysterical, off-the-charts deafening beat of his own heart.

He didn't expect his jaw to hurt this much. He didn't expect to get a cramp in his neck and he most definitely didn't expect to get so painfully hard just from sucking Minho's cock.

At some point the wig slipped off, and then it was all too real, the rays of the afternoon sun on his bare neck, Minho's fingers slipping through his hair, careful but intent, nudging him lower, his cock pushing insistently deeper and deeper. Jiho turned his head just a little bit to the right, and felt Minho's fingers trying to shape the head of his cock through the stretched skin of Jiho's cheek.

"So good," Minho breathed in awe, and the words hit Jiho like a punch. He whined and sucked harder, wishing fervently he really was good enough at this to go all the way down.

Minho's wandering fingers moved lower, traced the corner of Jiho's mouth, stretched thin and achy, pressed his lower lip and groaned when Jiho let his finger slip inside too. His cock pulsed on Jiho's tongue, there was more of that bitter taste, and then Minho forced him to stop, clamped his hand over Jiho's neck and bent over him, shuddering over and over, flooding Jiho's mouth.

 _He came_ , Jiho thought in a haze. _I made him come. In my..._

The words, sharp and electrifying, burst through his head one by one, and the heat of it all, the heavy, suddenly all too definite realization made him panic, made him choke. His throat worked once, twice, and Minho probably felt him swallow, because his whole body twitched again and he swore quietly and desperately into the valley between Jiho's shoulder-blades.

Jiho straightened, or tried to, because Minho was heavy and refused to move, so he attempted to slip away, touch himself, do something, fuck, he was going insane, but Minho gripped his hips, bunching the skirt in both fists and tugged Jiho closer.

“What are you…” Jiho gasped. "Wait..."

He barely managed to catch himself with his hands on Minho's shoulders, and then Minho pressed his thigh between Jiho's naked legs. The rough fabric of his jeans dragged along sensitive skin, and Jiho had to bite his hand to stifle the embarrassing moan. The friction was unbearable, and his hips rolled forward almost helplessly.

"Hey," Minho's voice was low, scratchy, his lips tickled Jiho's cheek. "Hey, noona, just let me..."

The slurred, slightly mocking words scalded Jiho and he shuddered, hiding his face in shame, clenched his legs in nearly painful arousal. His knees hurt, his lips felt twice their usual size, the inside of his mouth was a mess, and when Minho slid his hands under the skirt to play with the ruffled edge of Jiho's panties, squeezed his ass and ground his thigh up, Jiho's mind went blank, and then, for a short, blinding moment, there was no place left for anything but pleasure.

When he came to, Minho was drawing lazy patterns on his back. His legs were all pins and needles. The front of his panties felt sticky and warm, and his face grew hot. He had to move. He had to look Minho in the face and say something. Play it off, cut the tension strumming through the air, open the window to let the fresh wind in, change his clothes, for fuck's sake...

"So, how was it, hyung?" Minho said, and Jiho felt like a brick wall ran into him at the speed of a race car. "The full experience?"

That little fucker. No wonder Jiho chose him.

"We need to work on your stamina," he answered dryly. "And your comedic timing is shit."

"But you're gonna teach me, right?" Minho pressed his lips to Jiho's temple and stayed there, holding him close. "We're gonna do it. Together." He sounded a little weird, choking on air, and Jiho stroked his hair until he calmed down.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. We're gonna do it together. I promise."


End file.
